"Next Steps" - Part Ten (The Conclusion)

Part Ten

The First Fracture opened wide.

Every alarm in the TARDIS screamed at once.

Finn stumbled backward as the holographic representation of the ancient ring expanded until it dominated the console room.

Beyond it—something moved. Something enormous.

The Fracture Echo they had encountered before suddenly seemed tiny by comparison. Its body turned toward the darkness beyond the ring.

Not threatening. Not attacking. Waiting.

Bunsen stared at his scanner. “Zeeva…”

“I see it.”

“No, I really don’t think you do.”

“I am looking directly at the gigantic cosmic nightmare, Bunsen!”

“That isn’t what I mean!”

The scanner began shrieking; Bunsen held it out.

Thousands of signals appeared.

Fracture Echoes across thousands of realities. Every single one had stopped moving. Every one faced the same direction—toward the First Fracture.

Finn slowly stepped closer to Zeeva. “They’re listening.”

Zeeva looked down at him. “To what?”

The TARDIS answered.

The lights went out.

Darkness.

Then—a voice.

Not loud. It didn’t need to be. It seemed to speak through every atom in the room.

“ANCHOR.”

Finn went rigid.

Zeeva immediately moved in front of him. “No.”

The voice continued, “THE CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE.”

Zeeva raised her sonic screwdriver. “Oh, don’t start, Gozer!”

Bunsen blinked.

Finn looked at her. “You’re arguing with it?”

“I argue with everything.”

The voice ignored her. “THE WAY IS OPEN.”

The hologram brightened.

The thing beyond the fracture emerged.

First—a hand. Then another. Then a head vast enough to eclipse entire stars. Its body wasn’t flesh…or metal…or darkness. It was made from realities—pieces of them.

A skyscraper disappeared across one shoulder and became a mountain range.

Stars formed along its chest.

A city flickered across its face and vanished beneath an ocean.

Entire histories appeared and disappeared within it faster than Finn could comprehend.

Its white eyes opened.

Finn whispered, “The Architect.”

Zeeva stared. “So that’s what you call yourself?”

“I HAVE BEEN CALLED MANY THINGS.”

“Wonderful.” She pointed the sonic screwdriver at it. “I’m calling you late for dinner. Now go away.”

Nothing happened.

Finn glanced at her. “Worth a try.”

“Always.”

The Architect leaned closer.

The TARDIS groaned—not from impact, but from the Architect’s presence.

Bunsen grabbed the console. “It’s exerting dimensional pressure!”

“How much?”

Bunsen looked at the reading…then looked again. “More than numbers.”

Zeeva stared at him. “That is an appalling scientific measurement.”

“I am under considerable stress!”

“MEEP!”

“Beaker agrees!”

Suddenly, Finn’s Diary flew from the console. “Oh, come on!” It opened in midair, pages turning furiously.

Words appeared.

THE ANCHOR HAS CHOSEN.

Then…

THE ARCHITECT MAY ENTER.

Finn’s stomach dropped. “I let it out.”

Zeeva spun toward him. “No.”

“I opened the fracture.”

“We opened the fracture.”

“Because of me!”

“To save two universes.”

“But—”

Zeeva grabbed the Diary and slammed it shut. Then she looked Finn directly in the eyes. “No.”

Finn stopped.

“We are not doing this again.”

“But it says—”

“I don’t care what the book says.”

The Diary trembled angrily in her hands.

Zeeva glared at it. “You especially can keep quiet.”

The book stopped.

Finn almost laughed. Almost.

The Architect spoke, “HE IS THE POINT.”

Zeeva turned. “No.”

“HE IS THE PATH.”

“No.”

“HE IS THE ANCHOR.”

Zeeva’s expression hardened. “He’s Finn.”

Silence.

Finn looked up at her.

She stepped between him and the holographic field. “Finn Whizz.”

The Architect stared.

“Ten years old.”

The universe-sized eyes narrowed.

“Likes comics.”

Finn whispered, “Lots of comics.”

Zeeva nodded. “Too many comics.”

“There is no such thing!”

“Argues constantly.”

“Only when you’re wrong.”

“Frequently annoying.”

“Hey!”

“And he is not your key.”

The Architect's voice deepened. “HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN MINE.”

Zeeva stopped smiling. “No child belongs to you.”

The First Fracture expanded. Reality shook.

Bunsen shouted, “Zeeva!”

The hologram filled with universes.

Earth-M. Earth-828-M. Earth-616. Thousands more.

The Architect raised one enormous hand, and universes began moving.

Finn stared. “What is it doing?”

Bunsen frantically scanned. “It appears to be pulling dimensional boundaries toward the First Fracture!”

Zeeva understood. “It wants everything back.”

The Architect answered, “BEFORE WORLDS, THERE WAS ONE.”

Finn remembered the inscription: Before worlds...there was one.

“DIVISION WAS THE ERROR.”

Galaxies began folding toward the fracture.

“I WILL CORRECT IT.”

Finn looked horrified. “It wants to put everything back together?”

Zeeva nodded. “One universe.”

Bunsen whispered, “One reality.”

Finn watched countless possibilities collapsing toward a single point. “No choices.”

Zeeva looked at him. “No.”

The Architect answered, “NO CONFLICT.”

Another universe disappeared into the fracture.

“NO LOSS.”

Finn froze. Images surrounded him.

His father. Alive.

Their bench.

Friday comics.

Saturday arcade.

Sunday ice cream.

Finn’s breath caught.

Zeeva saw it. “Finn.”

The Architect’s voice softened. “NO DEATH.”

His father smiled. “Hey, buddy.”

Finn’s eyes filled.

Zeeva reached for him.

The Architect moved its hand.

A wall of light separated them.

“FINN!”

He couldn’t hear her. He only saw his father—waiting and smiling.

“You did good.”

Finn’s lip trembled. “Dad?”

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Finn stepped closer.

Behind the image, countless universes continued collapsing, but Finn didn’t see them. He saw home. “I can stay?”

His father extended his hands. “Forever.”

Finn reached…then stopped.

Forever.

No next Friday. No next Saturday. No next Sunday.

Just the same perfect moment—Forever.

Finn looked at his father. “You aren’t him.”

The smile faltered. “Finn—”

“My dad wouldn’t want this.”

The illusion flickered. “He’d want you back.”

“I want him back!” Finn shouted, tears rolling down his foamy cheeks. “I want him back more than anything!”

Zeeva tearfully watched from behind the barrier.

Finn wiped his eyes. “But not like this.”

The illusion darkened.

Finn looked up. “You don’t get to kill everybody’s tomorrow just to give me yesterday.”

The illusion shattered.

The barrier disappeared.

Zeeva immediately grabbed Finn and pulled him against her. “Oh, sweetheart.”

He hugged her tightly. “I almost did it this time.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to.”

“I know.”

“Does that make me bad?”

She pulled back and held his face. “No.” Finn searched her eyes. She held his gaze. “It makes you human.”

He blinked. “But…I’m a Muppet.”

Zeeva paused—then laughed despite herself. “You know what I mean.”

Finn smiled through his tears.

Suddenly, Bunsen shouted, “Apologies for interrupting a lovely emotional breakthrough, but existence is still ending!”

Zeeva stood. “Right!”

Finn wiped his face. “What do we do?”

Zeeva stared at the Architect. It was pulling more worlds inward. She then looked at the First Fracture…then the Diary…and then Finn. Something clicked. “The inscription.”

Bunsen looked up. “What about it?”

“Before worlds, there was one.”

“Yes.”

“Before time, there was possibility.”

Bunsen’s expression changed. “Possibility divided.”

“And from division came everything.”

Finn stared. “So?”

Zeeva began smiling—not happily but dangerously. “The Architect thinks the division was a mistake.” She ran to the console. “But what if it wasn’t?”

Bunsen hurried beside her. “What are you proposing?”

“The First Fracture didn’t break reality.” She activated the hologram. “It created it.”

Finn’s eyes widened.

Zeeva pointed at the branching timelines. “The fracture isn’t a wound.”

Bunsen understood. “A branching point.”

“A choice.”

Finn whispered, “Next steps.”

Zeeva looked at him and smiled. “Exactly.”

The Architect roared, “DIVISION IS PAIN.”

Zeeva shouted back, “Sometimes!” She pulled a lever.

“DIVISION CREATES LOSS.”

“Yes!” Another control. “But it also creates possibility!”

Bunsen began recalibrating.

Finn watched the hologram.

Universes branching.

Lives unfolding.

Choices.

Mistakes.

Second chances.

Beginnings.

Endings.

Next steps.

The Architect raised both hands. “I WILL MAKE ALL THINGS ONE.”

Zeeva looked at Finn. “There’s our problem.”

Finn nodded. “It doesn’t understand choices.”

“No.” She pointed at Finn. “But you do.”

Finn’s smile faded. “Me?”

“You’re not an Anchor because you’re supposed to hold everything still.”

He remembered the Echo.

You choose which way they move.

Finn looked at the fracture. “You want me to choose?”

“No.” Zeeva came around the console. “I want you to decide whether you want to.”

Finn stared at her.

No prophecy. No book. No ancient machine.

His choice.

“Will it hurt?”

“Probably.”

“Can I die?”

Zeeva’s face changed—she couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

Finn swallowed. “But…if we don’t?”

Bunsen looked at the collapsing universes. “Eventually, there will only be one.”

Finn nodded and then looked at Zeeva. “I choose to help.”

She closed her eyes…for one second…then opened them. “Okay.” She knelt. “You don’t go anywhere without me.”

Finn nodded. “Deal.”

“Bunsen!”

“Ready!”

“Beaker!”

“MEEP!”

“Do something blue!”

Beaker’s eyes widened.

Zeeva realized what she’d said. “WAIT—”

CLUNK! Beaker pulled a lever.

The TARDIS lurched.

Zeeva stared.

Bunsen stared.

Finn stared.

The console readings stabilized.

Bunsen blinked. “…That was the correct blue lever.”

Beaker slowly smiled. “Mee.”

Zeeva pointed at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

Finn placed both hands on the Diary. Five foamy fingers on each cover.

Zeeva placed her hands over his.

The Diary opened. Golden light poured outward.

The Architect recoiled. “ANCHOR.”

Finn looked up. “My name is Finn.”

The light intensified. “YOU WILL RETURN.”

“Maybe.”

The Architect paused.

Finn smiled. “But that’ll be my choice too.”

Zeeva activated the sonic screwdriver. Blue light met the Diary’s gold.

Bunsen redirected the TARDIS dimensional field.

The First Fracture illuminated—not white…every color.

Countless possibilities.

The Architect screamed.

The Fracture Echoes throughout the multiverse turned away from Finn…and toward the Architect.

Bunsen stared. “What are they doing?”

Zeeva watched. “Remembering.”

The Echoes began separating. Their impossible bodies broke apart into fragments of worlds.

Cities returned. Stars returned. Histories returned.

Possibilities the Architect had consumed were released.

The enormous creature began shrinking. “I AM THE WHOLE!”

Finn shouted, “No!” Another piece broke away. “You’re just scared of things changing!”

The Architect froze.

Finn suddenly understood it.

For all its size…for all its age…it was terrified.

It remembered existence before division…before uncertainty…before loss…and it had spent eternity trying to undo the first choice.

Finn’s anger disappeared—he almost felt sorry for it. “You don’t have to put everything back.”

The Architect stared.

Finn held out one hand. “You can take a next step, too.”

Zeeva looked at him.

The Architect looked at Finn’s tiny hand for what felt like forever—nothing happened. Then the colossal being began collapsing…not dying…changing.

Its infinite body folded inward.

Universes peeled away…

…stars returned to the sky…

…until only the original Fracture Echo remained.

Then smaller.

And smaller.

Finally—a tiny figure of shifting starlight stood before the First Fracture.

It looked at Finn. “WHAT LIES BEYOND THE NEXT STEP?”

Finn smiled. “I don’t know.”

The being tilted its head.

Finn shrugged. “That’s kinda the point.”

The creature looked back at the First Fracture and then forward. For the first time since before worlds existed, the Architect chose something new.

It stepped through, and the fracture closed behind it.

Silence.

No alarms. No screaming. No collapsing realities.

Just the ordinary hum of Zeeva’s TARDIS.

Finn slowly looked around. “Did we win? Like really win this time?”

Bunsen checked the scanner; his mouth opened.

Finn pointed. “Don’t.”

Bunsen closed it. He checked again and then smiled. “We won.”

Finn screamed. “YES!”

Beaker screamed louder. “MEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!”

Finn launched himself at Zeeva. She caught him. He wrapped his arms around her neck. “We did it!”

Zeeva laughed. “We did.”

“I saved the multiverse!”

“We saved the multiverse.”

“Still counts!”

“Yes.”

Finn pulled back. “So…superhero?”

Zeeva pretended to consider it.

Finn waited.

Finally—

“Superhero.”

His mouth fell open. “Really?!”

“Really.”

Finn pumped both fists.

Zeeva laughed and pulled him into another hug.

— — — — — — —

Much later…

Finn sat beside Zeeva on the steps beneath the console.

Everything was quiet.

Bunsen and Beaker were running final diagnostics.

Finn rested his head against Zeeva’s arm. “So, what happens now?”

Zeeva smiled down at him. “What do you want to happen?”

He thought. “Can I stay?”

Her expression softened. “With me?”

Finn nodded. “Not forever.”

Zeeva smiled. “Smart boy.”

“But…for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

Finn shrugged. “Until the next step.”

Zeeva looked away for a moment. Her eyes were suddenly wet.

Finn noticed. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re doing the face.”

She laughed. Then wrapped an arm around him. “Yeah.”

Finn leaned against her. “So…where are we going?”

Zeeva looked toward the console. The entire universe waited. “Anywhere.”

Finn grinned. “That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“Exactly.”

Across the room, Bunsen stopped; his scanner beeped—once.

He frowned. Then again.

Beaker leaned over. “Mee?”

Bunsen enlarged the reading. All the chaotic fracture energy was disappearing, exactly as expected.

Except…something remained.

Perfectly straight dimensional traces.

Not cracks. Not Echoes. Not natural.

Bunsen slowly approached Zeeva. “Zeeva.”

She sighed, “Please don’t say ‘oh’.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

That worried her more.

She stood, and Finn followed as Bunsen projected the data, showing the lines crossing the multiverse. Some passed through Earth-616; others through Earth-M; others into realities none of them recognized.

Zeeva studied them. “These weren’t here before.”

“No.”

Finn pointed. “Are those more fractures?”

Zeeva stared. “No.”

Bunsen nodded to confirm. “No.”

Finn looked between them. “Then…what are they?”

Zeeva’s expression darkened. “Routes.”

“Made by who?”

Nobody answered.

Then Bunsen isolated another signal.

It was tiny—almost invisible—and, unlike fracture energy, appeared to have been artificially altered.

Zeeva leaned closer. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Natural?”

“No.”

“Accidental?”

Bunsen studied it. His answer came quietly: “I very much doubt it.”

Zeeva stared at the unknown signature.

Someone had been working inside the chaos.

Watching. Learning. Preparing.

Finn tugged gently at her sleeve. “Another next step?”

Zeeva looked down and smiled. “Looks like it.”

— — — — — —

Later…

Finn was asleep after ten solid minutes of insisting he wasn’t tired.

Zeeva had eventually found him curled up on one of the TARDIS couches with The Impossible Diary resting against his chest.

She’d taken the book away and covered him with a blanket.

She spent longer than she’d ever admit watching him sleep.

Now she returned to the console room. Alone.

Or so she thought.

She stopped.

Someone stood on the opposite side of the console.

A tall man dressed entirely in black.

Long coat.

S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia.

Dreadlocks falling around a face that looked entirely too calm for someone who had somehow entered a locked TARDIS.

Zeeva slowly reached for her sonic screwdriver. “Three seconds.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow. “For?”

“To explain why there’s a strange man in my TARDIS.”

“Fair.”

“Two.”

“Sean Livingston.”

She activated the sonic. “That’s a name. Not an explanation.”

“Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“One.”

Livingston glanced around the impossible chamber. “Nice TARDIS. The other one I’ve been on seemed much bigger.”

Zeeva froze in shock. “How do you know about TARDISes?” She fiercely pointed the sonic at him. “Answer my question! How did you get in here?”

He smiled faintly. “That one’s going to bother you.”

“It already does.”

“Good.”

Zeeva approached. “You have approximately thirty additional seconds before I introduce you to the vacuum of space.”

“Earth-M almost ceased to exist today.”

“I noticed.”

“So did we.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Livingston nodded. “And we’re not the only ones.” He placed a small device on the console. The same dimensional routes Bunsen had found appeared.

Zeeva’s sarcasm subsided. “You know about these?”

“We’ve been tracking some of them.”

“How long?”

“Long enough to know today’s incident wasn’t the end.”

Zeeva stared at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“A lot.”

“Charming.”

“I’ve been told.”

Livingston reached inside his coat.

Zeeva immediately raised the sonic. “Slowly.”

“Paranoid.”

“Alive.”

“Fair.”

He withdrew a black card.

One symbol appeared across it—an interestingly shaped letter ‘A’.

Zeeva looked at it, recognizing the symbol. “What is that?”

“An invitation.”

“To?”

Livingston looked toward the corridor Finn had disappeared down and then back at Zeeva. “You did impressive work today.”

“We.”

“What?”

“We did impressive work today.”

A small smile crossed his face. “I heard about the kid.”

Her expression changed. “Be very careful.”

“I’m not here for him.”

“Good answer.”

Livingston pushed the card toward her. “We’re building something.”

Zeeva stared. “A team?”

“A response.”

“To what?”

Livingston looked at the holographic routes. “To whatever comes through those next.”

Zeeva picked up the card. “And what’s this response called?”

Livingston headed toward the TARDIS doors. “The Avengers.”

Zeeva raised an eyebrow. “You already have Avengers.”

“Not these Avengers.” He reached the doors.

Zeeva folded her arms. “You realize those are locked.”

Livingston opened them.

Zeeva’s mouth fell open.

He paused. “We also need to discuss your security.”

Then he stepped outside.

The doors closed.

Silence.

Zeeva stared. Then slowly looked toward the central column. “No.” The TARDIS hummed innocently. “You let him in.” Another hum. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

The lights flickered.

Zeeva pointed accusingly at the ceiling. “You and I are going to have a very long conversation.”

From somewhere down the corridor came Finn’s sleepy voice. “Zeeva?”

Her expression immediately softened. “Coming, sweetheart.”

She glanced once more at the black card…at the A.

Then she slipped it into her pocket and followed Finn’s voice.

Outside the TARDIS—somewhere between universes—one of the mysterious routes illuminated.

Then another.

Then another.

And far beyond Earth-M…something noticed.